Wild Fire
by TARDISTraveller
Summary: The Doctor accidentally burns down a village. But he is the one caught in the blaze. (Also posted on AO3).


Wild Fire

Rule 593: Don't touch any organisms if you aren't 100% sure what they are.

He'd told Clara that one just last week, when she scooped up a flower petal that turned out to be carnivorous. Unfortunately, the Doctor's rule breaking was going to take a bit more than a bandaid to fix.

Half of the village behind him was burning, embers spreading rapidly from canvas tent to canvas tent to centuries-old rug. As he huffed and carried his feet faster toward the TARDIS, he couldn't help but mentally defend himself. After all, how was he supposed to know that the little green scaly thing he took to a family as a homecoming present was actually a dragon? And even if it was, he couldn't have guessed it'd have the power to burn an entire town in five minutes. That really was a remarkable creature. For a second, the Doctor paused in his running and considered going back to look for it.

"There he is!"

Dozens of footsteps came stamping behind him, and so the Doctor turned warily back toward the forest ahead and kept going. Trees rushed past, and images like a rushed impressionist painting sped past the Doctor's focused eyes. Green leaf after brown branch whizzed beside his face, but he only had one color on his mind. "Where are you, old girl?"

At last, a small square of blue appeared in the midst of the endless trees and shrubbery; an oasis and a safe haven in one. The Doctor let himself smile. Then he heard the angry villagers behind him, closer than ever.

Instantly, he felt a prick in his arm. His head went light, an odd ringing entering his ears. He shook his head to clear it. He was so close. If he could just take ten-maybe twenty-more steps, he'd be home free.

His foot tripped over a branch, and dread set in the Doctor's stomach. Black spots danced along the edges of his vision, forming a thin tunnel with the bright blue TARDIS in the very center. He wasn't going to make it.

His thoughts slowed, and soon he couldn't tell whether he were standing or not. His answer came a moment later, as his side connected painfully with the underbrush. He widened his gaze on last time and turned up, eyeing the distant treetops with fear. A few of the people from the village had caught up, and were hovering over him like vultures waiting for a meal.

As the Doctor faded out of consciousness, his only hope was that Clara, wherever she might've ended up in the half an hour before his dragon fiasco, would come back and find him soon.

.

When the Doctor next awoke, he was sitting up, something pressed hard against his back. Before opening his eyes, he groaned, and muttered about finding a chiropractor.

His eyes jolted open suddenly and his memories flooded back. As he took in his surroundings, his hearts skipped a beat, and then began pounding in his chest like an oversized clock.

He was in the same tent he'd visited earlier, but now the raging fire was climbing the thick canvas walls, burning through the wooden beams like they were paper. Anything beside the bright fire was difficult to see, however, through the ash that littered the air. The Doctor felt it burning in his lungs already, making him cough with every other breath he took. How long had he been in here? And how much longer could he last?

He tried to stand, but discovered his hands were tightly bound behind the pole he now noticed he was leant against. Another quick shift of his body told him he didn't have the Sonic; they must've taken it from him before leaving him here.

Frustrated and secretly terrified, the Doctor looked around himself. There had to be something. He'd been in scrapes like this before; loads of times. It was never hopeless. Not even when Daleks and Cybermen were banging down your door.

But as the Doctor's eyes became irritated from the soot in the air, and as the spaces between his coughing fits grew shorter and shorter, he understood one thing plainly: nature was no Dalek. There was no quick fix; no simple blow to the eyestalk to immobilize it. Fire was not to he played with, and he had stoked it.

His vision started waning again as he hoped and prayed that Clara was alright, and that, maybe, she would still find him. His sunken head was filled with doubt.

.

Clara returned to the forest carrying shawls from the nearby shops, a wide grin on her face. It had been a long walk, but it was worth it in the end to find such beautiful silk fabric in the plethora of colors she now held in her arms. She smiled again as she passed the TARDIS and continued down the small incline toward the village. The Doctor probably had some adventure already, or maybe he'd finally adapted well to a place for once. Maybe she could even get him to put on one of the shawls. The magician coat was getting a bit dirty after all of their trips. Perhaps he'd want something new for once.

Clara scaled one final hill before turning up to look at the village. Her smile faded, and she wrapped one of the shawls around her shoulders, letting the other fall to the ground. "Oh, Doctor. I can't leave you anywhere, can I?"

She surged forward, hopping over sticks and jagged rocks. In the distance, she saw a few stragglers from the village, hauling what looked like half of their houses through the forest. Clara briefly wondered if the Doctor ever had to pay compensation during his travels. Then she continued on, stopping only when she reached the outer edge of the village.

It was a disaster. No people were left here, that she could see, but practically every tent blazed with red and orange fire, smoke and ash filling the air greedily. Clara covered her mouth with her sleeve and gazed around with squinted eyes. It was so quiet. Where was the Doctor?

She went door to door, peeking in the gaps at the entrances, searching rooms lit well from the nearby fires. There weren't any villagers left, which lifted a weight from Clara's chest. But she still couldn't find the Doctor. Which house had he said he was going to? It felt like so long ago now.

Clara peeked in another doorway and the weight dropped back into her chest. Of course it would be one of the last houses she checked; and of course it'd be him tied up like a bloody pig on a barbeque. His head was bent to his chest, pale face glowing yellow in the light of the embers eating at the walls.

Clara raced in and sank beside him, feeling around in the shadows for his hands. Whoever had tied these knots knew what they were doing, unfortunately for Clara. As she worked, she leaned beside the Doctor's ear.

"Doctor? I'm here."

He didn't respond, even when the ropes slackened and fell to the floor. Clara put her hands on both of his shoulders, but his head just lolled to the side. Her palm glided up to his cheek, where her thumb brushed soothing lines against his skin.

"Doctor? Come on, wake up. We gotta get out of here."

He didn't move a muscle, or make even the slightest sound. Clara bit her lip and glanced around. She was totally alone here, in a brand new and terrifying situation. Part of her wanted to scream and let her frustrations out. Luckily, the more rational side of her won out.

"Okay, I'm gonna get you out of here," Clara said, shifting over and pulling the Doctor toward herself. "Sorry for any...bruising."

Clara huffed the last word as she took the Doctor's weight awkwardly, her hands holding him under the armpits. Then she slowly circled around and began dragging him across the dirty floor. Her back ached before they'd reached the threshold. Oh, he would owe her bigtime for this.

Somehow, Clara made it, with the Doctor in tow, all the way to the edge of the forest, where she unceremoniously dropped his shoulder back onto the ground, careful only at the last second to protect his head. She took a moment for herself and deeply breathed in the slightly cleaner air over here, away from all of the fires and burning canvases.

As soon as she stopped having heart palpitations, Clara hurried back to the Doctor's side and knelt beside him, eyes dancing across his body. A layer of gray ash covered his face, but other than that he seemed fine. No injuries that she could see.

Clara leaned down and touched a hand to his neck. Two heartbeats pulsed beneath her fingers, just a little weaker than normal. Clara let out a breath, and then shifted her hand up to his mouth, hovering it just in front of his lips. She didn't feel anything for five seconds. Then ten seconds.

Panic settled in Clara's abdomen, making her feel sick. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing!

She leaned over him, feeling her teeth chatter.

"Okay, okay. You did training, Ozzie. What did they tell you to do when someone's not breathing?"

Clara blinked the tears out of her eyes and placed a gentle hand beneath the Doctor's neck, leaning his head back. "Open the airway."

With trembling fingers, she pulled the Doctor's chin down, opening his mouth. Then she used her other hand to hold his nose shut. "Pinch the nose. Breath of life."

Holding the Doctor's chin down, Clara took a deep breath and then brought her lips down over the Doctor's, breathing the clean air into him. In the corner of her eye, she saw his chest rise, and she let out a shaky breath before continuing the exercise.

Two breaths later, she paused for a moment and looked him over. He seemed smaller somehow, though her hand looked childish as it rested on his chest. He was so vulnerable and so still. It had been weeks since Clara had seen the man even sit down for a few minutes.

She leaned down and breathed into his mouth again, hardly sparing a second to think of how odd this would be in less dire situations. She gave him another helping of air and wondered if he was aware of anything right now, or if he were as completely unconscious as he appeared to be.

Two more breaths, and nothing changed. Still the Doctor's lips stayed parted, just slightly, his chest unmoving without Clara. She let a few tears fall, and then bent down to him again. When their lips touched, his were a degree colder than they had been a moment before. As Clara pulled away from her second breath, she noticed they were tinged with blue.

Her hair brushed through his bangs quickly; desperately. "Doctor...please. Don't do this."

She felt his neck with a shaking hand. His heartbeats were weaker, thready and faint. Instantly, Clara inhaled deeply and gave him another big lungful of air, then another. This time she pushed on his chest, just a few times, letting herself cry freely now.

"Stay with me, Doctor. Stay with me."

Dark circles sat beneath his eyes as she breathed into his cool mouth again. Had he been that pale a minute ago? Had his features been so pronounced?

Clara angrily jabbed her palm into his sternum, right where the ridiculous magician coat met his sweater.

"Please. Come back to me. Don't do this."

Clara took a large gulp of air and touched her lips to the Doctor's. As soon as she exhaled, she felt his body shudder beneath her, and she pulled away with a choking sob.

The Doctor's chest heaved, convulsing short, ragged breaths into his deprived lungs. His eyes were wide as they peered up into Clara's, his pulse racing as he tried desperately to breath, unable to get as much air as he wanted all at once. Clara wrapped an arm around him and helped turn him onto his side.

"Shh, shh just breathe. Breathe, it's okay."

The Doctor sucked in air shakily, and the coughed. "There you go. Breathe. Breathe."

Clara rubbed a hand up and down his arm as he slowly gained control of himself, calming down with each new lungful of air. "Clara," he coughed into his sleeve.

Clara came to sit by his side, in his line of vision. "Don't talk. Don't talk, just breathe."

For once, the Doctor listened. Instead of talking, he simply stared into Clara's wide brown eyes and tried to even out his breathing, breaking into an ashy cough every minute or so. Each time, Clara rubbed his arm or ran a hand gently through his bangs, her voice soothing and healing.

When he could finally breathe properly and was sitting up on his own, long legs splayed out in front of him and a look of pure exhaustion on his face, Clara unhooked the clasp of her shawl and wrapped it around his shoulders. He eyed it and then her curiously.

"I bought it at a shop down by the river."

She thought he was about to rip it off of himself and chuck it back at her, but instead he took hold of it in both of his hands and wrapped it tighter around himself. Clara put an arm around him and pulled him into herself, letting his head rest against her shoulder. She, in turn, used his soft hair as a pillow for herself.

"Doctor?"

"Yes Clara?"

"You owe me a massage. And a holiday."

The Doctor chuckled. "Right boss."

"Oh, and Doctor?"

"Here we go," the Doctor muttered, closing his eyes.

Clara kissed the top of his head and the Doctor's eyes popped open again. "I'm really glad you're alright. Daft old man."

The Doctor smiled at the old nickname, and then shut his eyes, leaning into Clara's bony shoulder as if it were the comfiest place in the universe.


End file.
